


Fever Dreams

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Nightmares, Prompt Fill, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the edge of consciousness, a feverish, flu-stricken Enjolras dreams the very worst. Grantaire is there to hold him when he wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [websthetics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/websthetics/gifts).



> My prompt was "Enjoltaire, on the edge of consciousness", requested on tumblr by a03 user websthetics, because they were in the mood for a little E/R angst the last time I was taking prompts, and I'm always happy to oblige! I know this is a terribly unoriginal plot concept for this fandom, but I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it! :)

*******

_Enjolras is shaking. He can’t tell where he is, all he sees is ash and dust and bits of falling plaster, a sound like explosions tearing at his eardrums. Out of the darkness, a halting, staggering silhouette walks steadily towards him, calling his name. Suddenly, another boom sounds and the world lights up, illuminating the other man’s unshaven face and soft, calm, dark eyes. Grantaire._

_“Grantaire!” Enjolras hears himself shouting, and he isn’t sure whether he means for R to come closer or run away from this place, far away._

_But Enjolras cannot run away. He is meant to stand up for his beliefs, for his people. His place is here, in this world that’s falling apart at its seams, and he should be here alone— but still, Grantaire moves closer._

_“Do you permit it? Do you permit it?” he keeps asking, reaching for Enjolras’ hand. Their fingers lace together, flooding E with strength, and though he can’t find his way to his feet, he’s triumphant. He’s won this fight, and then— BOOM.  Another explosion of gunpowder and ashes, and the world goes black, then red…_

      “Enjolras! Enjolras, wake up, you’re shaking,” says that same desperate voice, and from behind his eyelids, Enjolras thinks he can make out a silhouette. The figure scoops him up off the floor, instead depositing him on a couch.

“Grantaire, you stood up for the cause, and they hurt you. I think they- no, I won’t let them- _please_ …” Enjolras gasps, jerking up off the cushions beneath him. Grantaire grabs his arms, holds them gently to his sides, pressing E against himself to calm him. The world slips back into focus, just a little.

“It was just a dream. _Ange_ , it was a dream. I’m fine, I’m not hurt, and neither are you. Did you even try to sleep last night? You’re sick, I’ve told you that you need to rest. Joly’s going to be furious, you know.”

“J-Joly… Grantaire, I really don’t feel well. Maybe you should call him…” Enjolras rasps, pressing a hand against his eyes. The dream had been so impossibly vivid, and yet, here he is, back in his flat with his boyfriend holding him, alive and whole and here.

“He’s coming over first thing tomorrow, remember? I couldn’t get him to stay away if I tried,” Grantaire chuckles. His voice is raspy too, but naturally so, and his breath smells faintly of cigarettes. He must have been worried; he’s supposed to be trying to quit, but old habits die hard when you’re nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras coughs. “I didn’t mean to wake you, you don’t need to-”

“Yes, I do,” Grantaire insists. “I need to help you take care of yourself. ABC business can wait until you feel better.”

“You were dead,” Enjolras says, in a very small voice. “I think- I was dying too. It felt so real.”

“I know. I’ve had my share of nightmares, believe me. But it’s not real,  _ange_. You’re fine. Go back to sleep.” Grantaire bends to rest his head tiredly against Enjolras’ stomach as E rolls his eyes at the cheesy pet name R likes to call him. Well, it is better than _Apollo_.

      Enjolras stares blearily at R, reaches out to touch his mass of tangled dark hair, and Grantaire looks up at him.

“Come here,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire stretches out next to him on the narrow couch that’s barely got enough room for the pair of them together.

“I do sleep better next to you,” Grantaire sighs. “When you actually sleep, anyway.”

Enjolras ignores him, reaching for R’s calloused artist’s hand. Their fingers brush together lightly.

“Can I…” Enjolras murmurs, needing to hold hands, and Grantaire takes his hand, presses his lips to E’s knuckles.

“Of course,” the cynic sighs, already on the edge of sleep, and Enjolras isn’t far behind.

Half-gone already, his eyelids drooping, Enjolras squeezes his boyfriend’s hand, cool and solid, reassuring against his own feverish skin.

He’ll feel better in the morning. There is no tragedy here, he reminds himself.  

It was only a dream.

 

*******


End file.
